


Burned Tracks

by therudestflower



Series: The Commuter AU [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Gen, I'm here for closure that doesn't quite close, Necessary OC's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21753328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therudestflower/pseuds/therudestflower
Summary: In Chicago when extreme cold damages the metal of the train tracks, they are repaired by setting them on fire.
Relationships: Chris Argent & Isaac Lahey
Series: The Commuter AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1121325
Comments: 5
Kudos: 35





	Burned Tracks

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow up of Return Fare in this verse.

In the end, Chris asked Willa to handle the Lahey house. 

It took him far fewer words than he expected to explain why he was asking an expert in transportation to clean a house, and she did it more quickly than either of them were prepared for. 

She called, because she called. Everyone in his company called at all hours because they knew he’d answer the phone. When she called it was four thirty Chicago time, Isaac was awake because hotels in Indiana didn’t create miracles, and the nightmares didn’t completely stop. 

It was March, which was a bad time for all of them, or at least Chris expected that it should be. The anniversary of Isaac’s father’s death was a few days away, while they still had sixteen days before the second anniversary of Victoria dying next to him. Allison only answered a few sentences in her emails, and if he didn't have reports from his friends who were hosting her, Chris would have flown to France himself to make sure she wasn’t beyond herself. They said she was irritable but seemed to be managing well enough. He was in contact with them no less than six times a day. 

Isaac’s behavior never seemed to change significantly. Aside from outbursts of violence, he is somewhat even keeled in his pessimism. A week earlier Chris confirmed the date of Isaac’s father’s death, he risked asking about Camden and his mother. Chris knew, once he knew the name he was able to find them both from their Army records. Isaac just shrugged. 

“I don’t know when they died,” he said. 

“You were eight when your mother died and thirteen when--”

“I _ know that.  _ I just don’t know what the to the minute date was.” 

It was astounding how deep Isaac’s capacity for denial ran. When he asked for his mother’s name the previous year, Chris was prepared for him to deny he knew it, and was surprised when Isaac rattled off her given, Hebrew, and maiden name. 

When Chris asked him if he wanted to do anything for the one anniversary acknowledged, Isaac said, “Yeah, why don’t you find a water pitcher to throw at me.” 

It wasn’t an ideal time for Willa to call and say the valuables were coming in the mail, and should arrive that day. 

“I told you he doesn’t want anything,” Chris said as he walked into his office. He glanced behind himself before closing the door and found that Isaac was still listening to Indiana radio on his laptop with his head on the island. 

“Hey,” Willa said, “I thought the same thing when I burned down my aunt’s house, but just about every day I think about my Lisa Frank collection. This is like, legit valuables. Most of the house was complete trash. Half the kitchen cabinets were stacked front to back with empty gin bottles. Freak of life cleaned the label off, I could just tell from the shape of the bottle what brand it was. I’m guessing that wasn’t the kid?”

Chris did not open cabinets and decided not to dwell on the psychology of a man who scrubbed clean and saved gin bottles, an obsessive alcoholic quirk lined up next to a series of sins. 

“No,” Chris said, “What valuables? I hope none of the civil war items.”

“No, donated the crap you said to donate, destroyed the crap you said to destroy. Chris, you’re hurting my feelings. No, I’m talking birth certificates, what looks like old bonds from the mom’s family? Mom’s wedding ring, I think. And the dog tags. All three of them. I figure he might want those.” 

How stupid could he be? One of the few things that Isaac was very willing to communicate was that his entire family had been in the Army. Of course there were dog tags. Willa said they were in Creek’s bedroom, which meant that Isaac knew where they were. He would have been the one to put Creek’s there. 

“Any photos?” he asked. He dreaded the answer, but knew what it would be. 

The birthday photo was in a frame on Isaac’s desk now, and more than once Chris hadn’t been able to stop himself from sitting on the bed and staring at it when he’s alone in the apartment. He’d searched for photos online in a three day obsessive streak that came up with four photos from public schools and sports clubs labeled as  _ Isaac Lahey.  _ Isaac was wearing a helmet in all of them, or had his face turned away from the camera.  __

“I found some of the brother, on a swim team? The dad too. Didn’t set those on fire, against my better judgement, because you asked me to keep any photos I found. Sent those too, but in an envelope. That was the right thing to do.” 

Willa wasn’t asking, but Chris still agreed and thanked her as he hung up. 

He came out and found Isaac still in the kitchen with his head on the island. Isaac showed no sign of having heard him walk in, so Chris flipped the kitchen lights once. 

Isaac groaned, “I’m not going to have a panic attack if you surprise me.” 

No, he would jump and apologize, and Chris did not want to cause that either. “Willa is done with your house.” 

Suddenly alert, Isaac sat up and closed his laptop. “Is it sold?” 

“It’s not sold, but it’s going on the market. It might take a while to sell.” 

“No,” Isaac said, voice dripping in mock surprise. “Everyone wants to live in that house. Everyone wants to live in Hodge.” 

“Will it bother you that the house is still yours until it’s sold?” 

“Nothing bothers me.” 

Chris hoped that for the next five minutes that would be true. “Willa is sending a few things we might have overlooked. She found your social security card and birth certifi--”

“I have a new one,” Isaac said loudly. “I have a new one with my new name and you as my dad. And a new card. I don’t need that.”

“No, you don’t,” Chris agreed, “Willa wanted us--you--to have the option of what to do with it. She also found your family’s dog tags.” 

He expected silence, or anger, or anything but Isaac yawning and standing up and picking up his laptop. “Okay. Whatever. I’m going to go on a run at the lagoons. I might just go to work straight from there.” 

“Isaac it’s not even five in the morning.” 

“I know, I’m going on a long run.” 

Chris had work too, so the package beat him home. He had an account in Wisconsin that involved more driving than he liked, and he found himself rushing to get home before Isaac’s second job ended. On a whim he took a job at the bakery at the Jewel, which he said was mostly frosting cupcakes and writing names on birthday cakes, and in the evenings he worked at the public ice skating rink with his friends. Chris was relieved that in the time since they returned from Hodge, Isaac had found more to do than stare at the ceiling. 

Traffic on the 94 was uncharacteristically terrible. Or he failed at finishing his work quickly enough. Either way, when he got home the box was open on the island, and Isaac was holding one of the dog tags under the light. 

“Hey Dad,” Isaac said, not looking back at him. 

Chris stopped in his tracks. “Hey,” he said. “How was work?” He took off his coat and put it on an empty chair. He circled the island so he was standing across from Isaac. The envelope that Willa had mentioned was open and pulled out of the larger envelope, and Isaac and Camden’s birth certificates and social security cards were sitting on top of it. 

Creek Lahey and Amelia Cahen’s dog tags were lying on the island. Camden Lahey’s were in Isaac’s hands. 

“Cupcakes, ice, crying kids,” Isaac said. “How much older than Victoria are you?” 

“She’s actually a year older than me.” 

Still fixated on Camden’s tags, Isaac pointed to his parent’s on the table. “My dad was ten years older than my mom. Allison said that could create a power imbalance.”

“Not in a healthy relationship,” Chris said, “not if you mother was an adult, and they had--”

“My dad was not capable of a healthy relationship.” 

“That’s likely true.” Chris reached for the tags then stopped himself. “Can I touch these?” 

“You can touch my dad’s. Not my mom’s.” 

He nodded and picked up Creek’s. He knew very well that Creek was born almost fifteen years before he was, but seeing it spelled out with a month and a day was odd. Holding it, he was aware that he had enlisted at eighteen. Chris knew what the Army looked like then. 

He did not give a single shit. 

“People wear these,” Isaac said. He looked up and finally made eye contact. “When someone dies. They wear them.” 

“You could,” Chris offered. 

“I’d get a hunchback.” 

Chris considered his words carefully. “You knew where these were. You chose not to take them home the first time we went there.” 

“They aren’t mine,” Isaac said. “When I think about it, I picture my house crumbling to the ground and everything inside going with it. I know we can’t do that. But I just--I wanted the skates and I wanted a picture of my mom. I feel like these aren’t mine. They aren’t mine. My parents and Camden, they got them because the Army wanted to be able to find them if they died. When they died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“They were each wearing these when they died.” 

He never fully forgot the enormity of raising a child who lost his entire biological family by the age of sixteen, but it has never felt so clear, not even in the house in Indiana. 

“You don’t have to wear them. We can frame them. I’ve seen it done, we could hire someone to do it.” 

“Hire someone to do it,” Isaac echoed, possibly reminding him that this moment was created by hiring someone to create closure in a very personal part of his life, and doing it wrong.

“We can do it,” Chris said, “I should be able to retrieve photos of them from their service records, I could--”

“No pictures,” Isaac said. “But okay. If we do it.” 

Chris nodded and put Creek’s dog tags down. Isaac offered him Camden’s. All three were slightly different. Camden’s had a black soft casing. 

“I wish I’d just burned the house down,” Isaac said, “I don’t want other people living there.” 

Chris turned the dog tags over. “Maybe the new owners will tear it down.” 

* * *

345 Westwood Ave in Hodge, Indiana went up for sale two weeks later. It was advertised as “A charming three bedroom with good bones and great potential. Large basement could be a playroom or guest suite with some TLC!” 

It was priced at $55,000 dollars. Chris had paid just over a million for his condo, but that was nearly lakefront. His father’s house in Pennsylvania was worth nearly 100 times that. Of course, he did not inherit the house. He paid for Gerard’s end of life care, was at the funeral that Kate “couldn’t make” but she got the house. Neighbors told him she had a “commune” living in it now. Chris chose to let that go. 

Maybe that young realtor Sybil thought she could start low and start a bidding war? Either way, Chris immediately contacted her with an offer. 

“Oh!” she said, “this is very interesting. You know Creek’s kid owns the house? He knows you, right?”

“I do know that my son owns the house. I’m offering fifty-five.” 

“Well okay. A good day for me! There’s another offer in.” 

It was interesting, but Chris countered without hesitating. Sybil called him back fifteen minutes later and without hiding her excitement, said that the other party had upper their offer. 

It went on like that for an entire day. It went well over 150. Derek started calling him around three, but Chris wanted this done before Isaac got home from work so he screened the calls. He only stopped to answer the door. 

Derek was on the other side. He looked healthy. His hair was cut, and he was wearing a weather appropriate jacket. He also looked furious. 

“That house is not worth one hundred and fifty five thousand dollars. You’ve been bidding against me all day.” 

Sybil called him. Chris screened the call. “What do you want with the Lahey house?” 

“I want to destroy it.” 

“That is what I want as well.” 

“I didn’t want to spend a hundred grand over asking to do it.” 

Chris waved Derek into the apartment. Derek easily walked in and collapsed on the couch. Chris looked at the island, but decided to join him in the living room. “Isaac has fantasies about the house being destroyed. I’d like to make those happen.” 

“ _ I  _ have fantasies about that house being destroyed. I’m the one who knew them. But I don’t want to bid it into the millions to make that happen. So let’s both destroy it, okay?” 

He was glad at least one of them was being mature, because Chris was certainly willing to bid into the millions. They agreed to split the cost down the middle, and Sybil did not care at all. Chris could hear the stars in her eyes as they battened down the details. 

When Isaac got home that night he was especially loud. He also smelled awful, which meant he’d taught lessons. But he came right to the kitchen and said, “Sybil Colby called me. Someone bought that stupid house.”

“Oh?” Chris said. 

“You’re surprised. It wasn’t you?” 

“How much did it sell for?” 

“ _ One hundred fifty-five thousand dollars.  _ Only you would pay that much.” 

“I did not pay that much for any house today.” 

Isaac looked him over. “You’re telling the truth. I guess the buyer wants to tear it down, it’s on good land I guess? Whatever. I have a ton of money now.”

“And the house is being destroyed.” 

Isaac took an enormous breath. “Yeah. I’m glad we got the right stuff out before it happens. But yeah.” 

“Do you want to cook dinner, or order it?” 

“Order,” Isaac said, “I need to use the kitchen. One of the other bakers showed me icing technique I want to practice and I need cupcakes to do it.” 

Chris preheated the oven for him, called the Indian restaurant and researched which demolition company in South-Central Indiana could destroy a house the fastest. 

Chris wanted to believe it was over now. The house was sold, the only items remaining from it were ones Isaac had chosen. But he knew that the physical weight of the house was nothing compared to the weight in Isaac’s mind, and tonight was far from the last time they would celebrate letting go of something that haunted his son. 

But they could still celebrate. 

**Author's Note:**

> I know that there aren't birth dates on mititary ID tags. I know this. I know. It hurts me more to deviate from strict realism than you know.


End file.
